wtnwwwwMmi ii iwww i w B i w m i M wwMiiWM i'itiSSIiiS; vm^" I ^' f If New York State College of Agriculture At Cornell University Ithaca, N. Y. Library Cornell University Library PN6110.N2L91 The nature lovers' treasury; 3 1924 014 550 838 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014550838 THE NATURE LOVERS' TREASURY Copynght, 18it9, by K. J! " Pools where winter rains image all their roof of leaves. Where the pine its garland weaves." THE INVITATION Percy Bysshe Shelley Cijr Creasurp Edited by Carrie Eijompson ILotocU Editor of " The Art JLiovers' Treasury " " Tht lover of nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still irufy adjusted to each Dther;.who has retaitied the spirit of infancy even into the era o/ tnanhaod. . ^ . In the woods f is perpetual youth, , • • In the woods, we re- turn to reason and/aith.^^ — Emerson. Thirty-two Illustrations Boston j» Dana Estes i^ CompanyJ* Publishers 143071 Copyright, tqob By Dana Estes & Company All rights reserved Colonial ^ctss Electrotyped and Printed by C, H, Slmonds & Co. Boston, U. S. A. TO ifip jFat!)er THE TRUEST NATURE LOVER I HAVE EVER KNOWN PREFACE Many collections of Nature poetry have been made; among them two recent compilations by men eminently fitted to speak with authority. These volumes, edited by Bliss Carman and John Burroughs, are notable because they are selected from two different standpoints, that of a poet and that of a naturalist. There is a third point of view, which is that of the Lover of Nature who is neither poet nor naturalist, but who has, nevertheless, a keen appreciation of all the life- giving forces which are to be found in Nature's realms. As the demands of civilization increase, there comes an urgent call to men who have grown weary in the struggle and turmoil of cities to seek refreshment and healing amid Nature's solitudes. It is a repetition of the old myth of Hercules and Antaeus. Whenever men are well-nigh worsted in life's conflict, let them but be brought in contact with mother earth and they shall go forth strengthened and heartened, vii viii Preface Nature's welcome is always ready for her chil- dren. Her intimacy is a solace when human companionship is a weariness. Her music is filled with a gladness which is a part of herself. Her recreations are the most satisfying man can ex- perience. The thoughts and feelings inspired by her fill the soul with reverence and love. The best poetry is but a reflection of Nature's self. In " The Art of the Future," Charles G. Le- land says : " The world is asking earnestly when we are to have a real Art, a real Poetry, — an expression of the beautiful free from intense self- consciousness and torment and littleness. We shall have it when men and women go into the woods and by the surging sea, and through fields and gardens, and into each other's hearts, and deep into each other's longings and capacities for joy, and in all these study Nature absolutely and closely, in phenomena single or associ- ated." The genuine Nature Lover has that within himself which makes his life a joy. He is a power for good wherever he may be, and his resources are infinite. President Roosevelt has said, " The dweller or sojourner in the wilderness who most keenly loves and appreciates his surroundings, and all their sights and sounds, is the man who also loves and appreciates the books which tell of them." Preface ix It is hoped that this little book may find a welcome place in the hearts and homes of Nature Lovers throughout the land. Carrie Thompson Lowell. Portland, Maine, July, igo6. NOTE OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT The compilation of such a volume as " The Nature Lovers' Treasury " is made possible only through the kindness and consideration of those authors and publishers whose works enter into its composition. The editor takes great pleasure in rendering thanks to all who have in any way contributed to the making of this book, and has endeavored to give full credit in cases where copyright material has been included. The following selections are used by special permission and arrangement with the authorized publishers, and are hereby acknowledged : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. : Poems by Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, Lowell, Aldrich, Bret Harte, Nora Perry, and Edith M. Thomas; prose extracts from the writings of John Burroughs, Henry D. Thoreau, C. D. Warner, Bradford Torrey, and Sarah Orne Jewett. .Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. : Poems by Sam Walter Foss (from "Dreams in Homespun," "The Bloodless Sportsman," " The Song of the Conquerors ; " from " Back Country Poems," " The Brook Beneath the Snow," "The Trundle-bed Valley," "When the Leaves Turn Red ") ; poem by David Wasson, " Joy-month." G. P. Putnam's Sons: Extract from "The Wilder- ness Hunter," Theodore Roosevelt. Charles Scribner's Sons : " Pipes of Pan," Robert Louis Stevenson. xii Note of Acknowledgment Small, Maynard & Co.: "The Pussy-willows," from "The Listener in the Country," by Joseph Edgar Chamberlin; "The Joys of the Road," Bliss Carman (from "Songs from Vagabondia"). The Century Co. : " The Voice of the Pine," Richard Watson Gilder (from "Five Books of Song"). D. Appleton & Co. : Poems of William Cullen Bryant. The Bobbs-MerriJl Co. : Poems by James Whitcomb Riley (from " Neghborly Poems"). Little, Brown & Co. : " Thoreau's Flute," by Louisa M. Alcott. Dodd, Mead & Co. : Extracts from " Under the Trees," by Hamilton Wright Mabie. L. C. Page & Co. : Poems by Charles G. D. Roberts. Dana Estes & Co. : Poems by Frederic Lawrence Knowles. Pine Tree Magazine: Poem by George C. Orr. Special thanks are also due the authors who have given individual permission for the use of the following copyright material : John T. Trowbridge, " Midsummer ; " Denis A. McCarthy, " Ah, Sweet Is Tipperary ; " Thomas Hill, D. D., "In the Woods;" Mary A. Townsend, "A Woman's Wish ; " Adele Townsend Stanton, " Clover ; " John Trotwood Moore, poem from " Songs of Ten- nessee," and prose extracts from " A Summer Hym- nal ; " Ernest McGaffey, poems from " Poems of Rod and Gun," and an unpublished poem ; Ethelyn Wether- ald, " Out-of-doors ; " James B. Kenyon, " Song of the North Wind ; " Edgar P. Hill, D. D., " The Poetry of the Commonplace." CONTENTS Nature's Welcome .... The Invitation. Percy Bysshe Shelley " Up ! Up ! My Friend, and Quit Your Books. William Wordsworth .... An April Day. Hamilton Wright Mdbie . In the Woods. Thomas Hill, D.D. . Orara. Henry Clarence Kendall . The Lake Isle of Innisfree. W. B. Yeats . A Song for the Hot Winds. Harriet Miller Davidson An Invitation to the Country. William Cullen Bryant Summer. Donald G. Mitchell A Woman's Wish. Mary A. Townsend The Trundle-bed Valley. Sam Walter Foss A Summer Morning's Song. /. Tollens Soil-growth. John Trotwood Moore . Birch and Paddle. Charles G. D. Roberts . '^ Nature Recreations The Bloodless Sportsman. Sam Walter Foss Written upon a Blank Leaf in " The Complete Angler." William Wordsworth The Angler's Song. Izaak Walton My Canoe. Alfred B. Street. The Chase. Theodore Roosevelt . The Hunter's Song. Bryan Waller Procter Outdoor Pastimes. John Wilson Fishing. Ernest McGaffey .... The Taking of the Salmon. Thomas Tod Stod- dart The Old Swimmin'-hole. James Whitcomh Riley 49 Flushed. Ernest McGaWey^ A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea. Allan Cun ningham ... ... The Horseback Ride. Sarah J. Lippincott . 3 6 9 13 IS IS 17 18 20 21 22 2S 28 33 35 36 37 39 40 42 43 46 47 S2 53 54 xiv Contents FAGB The Pussy-willows. Joseph Edgar Chamberlin . S6 The Joys of the Road. Bliss Carman . . S9 Intimacy of Nature 6s To Mother Nature. Frederic Lawrence Knowles 67 Out-of-doors. Ethelyn Wetherald ... 68 Man's Harmony with. Nature. Jones Very . 68 River Driftwood. Sarah Orne Jewett . 69 The Footpath Way. Katherine Tynan . . 73 Clover. Adile Townsend Stanton ... 74 Spring. Donald G. Mitchell .... 75 A Touch of Nature. Thomas Bailey Aldrich . 78 Wistaria. Carrie Thompson Lowell ... 79 Ah, Sweet Is Tipperary. Denis A. McCarthy 79 Midsummer. John T. Trowbridge ... 81 An Autumn Morning. Edward William Dutcher 83 The Anxious Leaf. Henry Ward Beecher . 84 ^_When the Leaves Turn Red. Sam Walter Pass 86 Autumnal Foliage. Susan Fenimore Cooper . 87 To the Fringed Gentian. William Cullen Bryant 92 The Tryst of the Night. Mary C. Gillington Byron . . 92 Eventide. Hamilton Wright Mabie ... 94 Night. William Blake 95 The World and I. Anonymous .... 97 Gladness of Nature ... . . 99 An April Adoration. Charles G. D. Roberts . loi On the Approach of Spring. Robert Burns 102 Under the Greenwood Tree. William Shake- speare 103 To the Cuckoo. William Wordsworth . . 103 On Going on a Journey. William Haslitt . 105 The Spring Journey. Bishop Heber . . 107 Joy-month. David Atwood Wasson . . . 108 A Happy World. William Paley . . . 109 The Humble-bee. Ralph Waldo Emerson . .110 The Yellow Butterfly. Richard Jefferies . .112 To a Butterfly. Samuel Rogers . . . .113 Daffodils. William Wordsworth . . 114 Wood-paths. Wilson Flagg . . . .115 The Song of the Stars. William Cullen Bryant 119 A Song of the Four Seasons. ^Austin Dobson 121 • Nature's Chorus . . ... 123 From " Pan's Pipes." Robert Louis Stevenson 125 Contents xv A Laughing Chorus. Anonymous Tree Music. Henry Ward Beecher From "The Singers of the Sea." Josephine Pollard Song. John Greenleaf Whittier . The Voice of the Pine. Richard Watson Gilder A Wave of Melody. John Trotwood Moore The Waking of the Lark. Eric Mackay . Music of the Prairies. Theodore Roosevelt To a Mocking-bird in the Pine-top. John Trot- wood Moore An April Note. John Burroughs . The Oaten Pipe. Mary Newmarch Prescott Unwritten Music. Nathaniel Parker Willis The Brook beneath the Snow. Sam Walter Foss Nature's Moods The Masque of the Months. Austin Dobson The Opening Year. Percy Bysshe Shelley . The Snowdrop. Alfred Tennyson March. Constance Fenimore Woolson Song. William Watson .... The Breaking-up of Winter. Charles Dudley Warner A New England Spring. James Russell Lowell Spring Magic. Charles Dickens . The April Boy. Frederic Lawrence Knoivles Man's Sympathy with the Weather. John Bur- roughs When the Green Gits Back in the Trees. James Whitcomb Riley . Home-thoughts from Abroad. Robert Browning 177 May. Helen Hunt Jackson In June. Nora Perry . The Throstle. Alfred Tennyson . A Summer Day. Henry Charles Beeching Autumn. Henry Ward Beecher . From "The Last Walk in Autumn." John Greenleaf Whittier Weather in Arizona. Bradford Torrey In Nature's Wilderness Let's Go Back to Wilderness. George C. Orr The Song of the Conquerors. Sam Walter Foss 127 131 134 13s 137 139 140 143 ISO iSi 152 IS2 IS4 1 57 1 59 162 163 163 166 166 170 173 174 175 176 178 178 180 181 182 i8s 187 191 193 194 xvi Contents PAGS The Eagle. Alfred Tennyson .... 196 The Waterfall. Alfred B. Street . . . ig6 The O'Lincoln Family. Wilson Plagg . .129 The Birch. Theodore Winthrop .... i97 The Building of the Canoe. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow .... . . 200 The Song My Paddle Sings. E. Pauline John- son . 203 The Cry of the Loon. Henry D. Thoreau . 206 The Loon. Alfred B. Street . . .208 The Loon. Theodore Winthrop . 210 The Wild Swan. John Wilson . .211 The Song of the Dying Swan. Ernest McGaffey 213 Beauty of the Icebergs. Isaac I. Hayes, M. D. . 215 The Iceberg. Edward Sydney Tyler . . . 218 Song of the North Wind. James Benjamin Kenyon 220 The Stormy Petrel. Bryan Waller Procter 221 The Cowboy. John Antrobus .... 223 ''Grizzly. Francis Bret Harte . . 226 ^The Tiger. William Blake . . . 227 ■ Grandeur and Beauty of Nature . 229 The Forest Primeval. Henry Wadsworth Long- fellow . . ... - . 231 From " The Maine Woods." Henry D. Tho- reau . . ... 231 -—The Trailing Arbutus. John Greenleaf Whittier 232 A Forest Hymn. William Cullen Bryant . . 235 Flower in the Crannied Wall. Alfred Tennyson 235 The Dawning of the Day. James Clarence Mangan ... . 235 Nature. Ralph Waldo Emerson .... 237 The Hurricane. William Cullen Bryant . 241 The Calm after a Storm. Thomas Moore 243 The Ocean. Lord Byron .... 244 The Remoteness of the Sea. Hamilton Wright Mabie . . 246 ^To a Waterfowl. William Cullen Bryant 247 The Sea-limits. Dante Gabriel Rossetti . 249 Impressions of Niagara. Margaret Puller Ossoli 250 The Falls of Niagara. John G. C. Brainard . 254 i Nature Thoughts . .... 255 Thoughts of a Nature Lover. William Words- worth 2S7 Contents xvii PAGE The Seashore and the Mountains. Oliver Wen- dell Holmes 258 Sunrise from Mount Washington. Rufus Dawes 260 The Rising Moon. Charles Dickens . . . 262 The Sea. Frederic Lau,rence Knowles . . 263 The Chambered Nautilus. Oliver Wendell Holmes 264 The Sky. John Ruskin 266 The Sky Is a Drinking-cup. Richard Henry Stoddard 269 Sea-clouds. Richard Jefferies .... 269 The Cloud. Percy Bysshe Shelley . . . 271 Its Ain Drap o' Dew. James Ballantine . . 274 The Rhodora. Ralph Waldo Emerson . . 275 The Sundew. Algernon C. Swinburne . . 276 The Summer Mead. Richard Jefferies . . 278 The Earth and Man. Stopford A. Brooke . 279 Thoughts of Heaven. Robert Nicoll . . . 280 The Arctic Night. Isaac I. Hayes, M.D. . . 283 Nature and Her Poets 289 Early Spring. Alfred Tennyson .... 291 From " Birds and Poets." John Burroughs . 293 The Skylark. Percy Bysshe Shelley . 294 The Pine Tree and the Poet. Henry D. Thoreau 299 From a Poem on Thoreau. H. A. Blood . . 301 Thoreau's Flute. Louisa May Alcott . . . 302 The Poetry of the Commonplace. Edgar P. Hill, D.D. . 303 To the Dandelion. James Russell Lowell . . 307 The Spirit of Poetry. Henry Wadsworth Long- fellow . . 309 The Grasshopper. John Burroughs . . .311 The Grasshopper. Edith M. Thomas . . 313 Ballade of the Poet's Thought. Charles G. D. Roberts 314 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS " Pools where winter rains image all their roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weaves " . Frontispiece " The mountains call you, and the vales ; The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze That fans the ever-undulating sky " . " And breathed upon the frozen mountains " In the quiet woods The charm of a winter's day" "Oh, for the blue lochs cradled In the arms o' mountains gray" . A Woman's Wish " Or floating, hushed, at eve, Where the dim pine-tops grieve " " Where the mad rapids chafe We've shouted, steering safe " "While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport Shall live the name of Walton ; sage benign " O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters go " The Old Swimming - hole .... Flushed The Horseback Ride " A vagrant's morning wide and blue In early fall, when the wind walks, too " . " And I am glad the leaping brook to see " . " Heavy in herbage and in dew The great-eyed kine browse thankfully" . . 73 16 20 28 30 36 42 49 52 S6 59 68 XX List of Illustrations PAGE " By orchards yet in rosy veils " . .74 " Waves that stole on the startled shore " . -93 Night 97 " 'Tis night upon the lake " 137 The Brook beneath the Snow . . . .154 " A burst of the sun from cloud and a sparkle on valley and hill " . . . 181 " 'Neath pine, and birch, and tamarack " . . . 193 The Waterfall . . .... 197 The Song of the Dying Swan .... 213 Grizzly 226 "Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime" 245 " Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide?" . . 248 " Gather a shell from the strown beach And listen at its lips " 230 ■■ All is of God. If He but wave His hand. The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud; Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, Lo ! He looks back from the departing cloud " . 2SS Sunrise from Mt. Washington . . . 260 The Arctic Night 283 " The mountains call you ; and the vales. The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze That fans the ever undulating sky." ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH Armstrong NATURE'S WELCOME " The mountains call you, and the vales ; The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze That fans the ever-undulating sky." — " Art of Preserving Health," Armstrong. " And breathed upon the frozen mountains J THE INVITATION Percy Bysshe Shelley THE NATURE LOVERS' TREASURY THE INVITATION Best and brightest, come away ! Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorrow Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year jtist awake In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring Through the winter wandering. Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February bom ; Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth. It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea. And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains. And breathed upon the frozen mountains. And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, 3 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild Avood and the downs — To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake ! arise ! and come away ! To the wild woods and the plains. And the pools where winter rains Image all their roof of leaves. Where the pine its garland weaves Of sapless green and ivy dun Round stems that never kiss the sun; Where the lawns and pastures be. And the sand-hills of the sea ; — Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets. And wind-flowers and violets, Which yet join not scent to hue. Crown the pale year weak and new ; When the night is left behind In the deep east, dun and blind. Nature's Welcome 5 And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet. And all things seem only one In the universal sun. — Percy Bysshe Shelley. "UP! UP! MY FRIEND, AND QUIT YOUR BOOKS" Up ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books ; Or surely you'll grow double : Up ! up ! my Friend, and clear your looks ; Why all this toil and trouble? The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening lustre mellow Through all the long green fields has spread. His first sweet evening yellow. Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life. There's more of wisdom in it. And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your Teacher. 6 The Nature Lovers' Treasury She has a world of ready wealth. Our minds and hearts to bless — Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, Truth breathed by cheerfulness. One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things: — We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art ; Qose up these barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives. — William Wordsworth. AN APRIL DAY My study has been a dull place of late ; even the open fire, which still lingers on the hearth, has failed to exorcise a certain gray and weary spirit which has somehow taken possession of the premises. As I was thinking this morn- Nature's Welcome 7 ing about the best way of ejecting this un- welcome inmate, it suddenly occurred to me that for some time past my study has been simply a workshop; the fire has been lighted early and burned late, the windows have been closed to keep out all disturbing sounds, and the pile of manuscript on the table has steadily grown higher and higher. " After all," I said to myself, " it is I that ought to be ejected." Acting on this conclusion, and without waiting for the service of process of formal dislodg- ment, I have let the fire go out, opened the windows, locked the door, and put myself into the hands of my old friend, Nature, for re- freshment and society. I find that I have come a little prematurely, although my welcome has been even warmer than it would have been later. " This is what I hke," my old friend seemed to say. " You have not waited until I have set my house in order and embellished my grounds. You have come because you love me even more than my surroundings. I have a good many friends who know me only from May to October: the rest of the year they give me cold glances of surprised recogni- 8 The Nature Lovers' Treasury tion, or they pass me by without so much as a look. Their ardent devotion in summer fills me with a deep disdain; their admira- tion for great masses of colour, for high, striking effects, and for the general lavish- ness and prodigality of my passing mood, be- trays their lack of discernment, their defect of taste, and their slight acquaintance with myself. I should much prefer that theytwould leave my woods and fields untrodden, and not disturb my mountain solitudes with their ig- norant and vulgar raptures. The people who really know me and love me seek me oftener at other seasons, when I am more at leisure, and can bid them to a more intimate com- panionship. They come to understand my finer moods and deeper secrets of beauty; the elusive loveliness which I leave behind me to lure on my true friends through the late au- tumn, they find and follow with the eye and heart of love; the rare and splendid aspects in which I often discover my presence in mid- winter they enjoy all the more because I have withdrawn myself from the gaze of the crowd ; and the first faint touches of colour and soft breathings of life, which announce my return Nature's Welcome 9 in the early spring, they greet with the deep joy of true lovers. Those only who discern the beauty of branches from which I have stripped the leaves to uncover their exquisite outline and symmetry, who can look over bare fields and into the faded copse and find there the elusive beauty which hides in soft tones and low colours, are my true friends; all others are either pretenders or distant ac' quaintances." — " Under the Trees!' Hamil- ton Wright Mabie. IN THE WOODS In the woods on an April day. When the bluebirds whistle low, And song-sparrows trill Their quaint little ditty, Mid moss-covered trees. Over last year's leaves, I stroll ; and my heart Leaps up and sings Like a bird in the early spring. The little windflower peeps up to greet me. Seeming to laugh in the April sun ; The hepatica opens its pale blue eye, And trustingly looks at the deep blue heaven. I look up, too, — I cannot say why ; lO The Nature Lovers' Treasury For the springs of hope and the tide of joy Flow from the earth as from the sky : Below, as above, one promise shines; Below, as above, one Presence glows. In the woods, in early June, The oriole pipes so clear ; From meadows below The bobolink pours His frolicsome lay ; And over me sing The catbird and thrush; To whose jubilant notes My heart keeps beating time. The promise, now fulfilment grown. The Presence in dear Summer glows; Its beauty is more than heart can hold. The leafy ocean overhead. The flower-girt shore on which I stand. Alike are infinite in forms Of life, in beauty infinite. In vain I strive to drink all in, In vain to utter all I feel. When under August suns All Nature faints, I wander To the woods, and dream In the deep cool shade; While the vireo calls. And cicadas shrill. Natures Welcome 1 1 'Mid the branches, tell Of the heat I no longer feel. From the woodland swamp a lazy breeze, Stealing along with noiseless step. Brings the white-robed clethra's breath, And the velvet apios' grape-like odor. Nor song of bird, nor sight of beauty. Fills the heart with more calm delight. Through every sense I draw in bliss ; Each sight, each sound, each odor tells Of one all-loving Presence there. To the woods October calls My willing feet, to find 'Mid the goldenrod And the falling leaves Of the maple-trees. With their varied hues. Or of scarlet oaks, Or the crimson gum. The crown of the beauteous year. In the rich, ripe leaves of the autumn woods, After the summer's pride is o'er, A glory glows like a sunset sky. All change is glorious : in the work Of the world's Builder naught turns back ; Each change brings in new excellence. The sunset of the year foretells. To the trusting heart, a sunrise glad In the woods, when the bluebirds come again. 12 The Nature Lovers' Treasury And when January snows. With a glittering robe of white. Have hidden the fields. The chickadee sings His inspiriting song; And asks me to come With him, to enjoy In the quiet woods The charm of a winter's day. His cheery note, and the chickaree's chatter. Rather reveal than break the silence. The hemlock and pine, if the wind should call. Scarce could, with snowflakes muffled, answer; Nor yet the sun, with his soft persuasion. Is luring the snow to leave the branches. No sound prevents the full enjoyipent Of form and color, in the trees and rocks, And purple shadows on the snow. To the woods, to the woods I go, Whate'er my frame of mind; And find my heart Is there attuned To holy thought. In woods I see. And forests wild, A husbandry rare; And the husbandman is God. In the presence there my soul awakes, Each passion cools, while faith grows strong. ' In the quiet woods The charm of a winter's day." IN THE WOODS Thomas Hill, D. D. Natures Welcome 13 My little plans of life forgot, I live, for the time, in the life of God. With Him I tend each tree and plant, Each creature feed, all Nature fill; Then, strong in energy divine. Back to my little sphere return ; Lo ! He comes with me, — makes it His. — Thomas Hill, D. D. ORARA A TRIBUTARY OF THE CLARENCE RIVER The strong sob of the chafing stream, That seaward fights its way Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam. Is in the hills to-day. But far and faint a gray-winged form Hangs where the wild lights wane — The phantoms of a bygone storm, A ghost of wind and rain. The soft white feet of afternoon Are on the shining meads ; The breeze is as a pleasant tune Amongst the happy reeds. The fierce, disastrous, flying fire. That made the great caves ring. And scarred the slope, and broke the spire. Is a forgotten thing. 14 The Nature Lovers' Treasury The air is full of mellow sounds ; The wet hill-heads are bright; And down the fall of fragrant grounds The deep ways flame with light. A rose-red space of stream I see, Past banks of tender fern ; A radiant brook, unknown to me, Beyond its upper turn. The singing silver life I hear, Whose home is in the green Far-folded woods of fountains clear. Where I have never been. Ah, brook above the upper bend, I often long to stand Where you in soft, cool shades descend From the untrodden land; But I may linger long, and look, Till night is over all — My eyes will never see the brook, Or strange, sweet waterfall. The world is round me with its heat. And toil, and cares that tire: I cannot with my feeble feet Climb after my desire. — Henry Clarence Kendall. Nature's Welcome 1 5 THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin built there, of clay and wat- tles made ; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee. And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings. There midnight's all a-glimmer, and -noon a purple glow. And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for' always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pave- ments gray, I hear it in the deep hfeart's core. — W. B. Yeats. A SONG FOR THE HOT WINDS Oh, for a breath o' the moorlands, A whiff o' the caller air ! l6 The Nature Lovers' Treasury For the smell o' the flowerin' heather My very heart is sair. Oh, for the sound o' the burnies That wimple to the sea ; For the sight o' the browning bracken On the hillside waving free ! Oh, for the blue lochs cradled In the arms o' mountains gray, That smile as they shadow the drifting clouds A' the bonny summer day! Oh, for the tops o' mountains White wi' eternal snaw; For the mists that drift across the lift ; For the strong east winds that blaw ! I am sick o' the blazing sunshine That burns through the weary hours, O' the gaudy birds singing never a song, O' beautiful scentless flowers. I wud gie a' the. southern glory For a taste o' a good saut wind, Wi' a road ower the bonny sea before, Ant a track o' foam behind. Auld Scotland may be rugged. Her mountains stern and bare; " Oh for the blue lochs cradled In the arms o' mountains gray." A SONG OF THE HOT WINDS Harriet Miller Davidson Nature's Welcome 1 7 But, oh, for a breath o' her moorlands, A whiff o' her caller air ! — Harriet Miller Davidson. AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY ^Already, close by our summer dwelling, The Easter sparrow repeats her song ; A merry warbler, she chides the blossoms — The idle blossoms that sleep so long. The bluebird chants, from the elm's long branches, A hymn to welcome the budding year. The south wind wanders from field to forest. And softly whispers, " The Spring is here." Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city. Before those lays from the elm have ceased ; The violet breathes, by our door, as sweetly As in the air of her native East. /< Though many a flower in the wood is waking. The daffodil is our doorside queen ; She pushes upward the sward already. To spot with sunshine the early green. No lays so joyous as these are warbled From wiry prison in maiden's bower; l8 The Nature Lovers' Treasury No pampered bloom of the greenhouse chamber Has half the charm of the lawn's first flower. Yet these sweet sounds of the early season. And these fair sights of its sunny days, Are only sweet when we fondly listen. And only fair when we fondly gaze. ~/ There is no glory in star or blossom Till looked upon by a loving eye ; There is no fragrance in April breezes Till breathed with joy as they wander by. Come, Julia dear, for the sprouting willows. The opening flowers, and the gleaming brooks, And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks. — William Cullen Bryant. SUMMER I thank Heaven every summer's day of my life, that my lot was humbly cast, within the hearing of romping brooks, and beneath the shadow of oaks. And from all the tramp and bustle of the world, into which fortune has led me in these latter years of my life, I delight Natures Welcome 19 to steal away for days and for weeks together, and bathe my spirit in the freedom of the old woods, and to grow young again, lying upon the brook-side and counting the white clouds that sail along the sky, softly and tranquilly — even as holy memories go stealing over the vault of life. . . . I like to steep my soul in a sea of quiet, with nothing floating past me as I lie moored to my thought, but the perfume of flowers, and soaring birds, and shadows of clouds. Two days since, I was sweltering in the heat of the city, jostled by the thousand eager workers, and panting under the shadow of the walls. But I have stolen away, and for two hours of healthful regrowth into the darling past, I have been lying this blessed summer's morning, upon the grassy bank of a stream that babbled me to sleep in boyhood. Dear, old stream, unchanging, unfaltering — with no harsher notes now than then — never growing old — smiling in your silver rustle, and calming yourself in the broad, placid pools — I love you, as I love a friend ! — "Dream-life," Donald G. Mitchell. 20 Tke Nature Loveri Treasury A WOMAN'S WISH^ Would I were lying in a field of clover, Of clover cool and soft, and soft and sweet. With dusky clouds in deep skies hanging over. And scented silence at my head and feet. Just for one hour to slip the leash of Worry, In eager haste, from Thought's impatient neck. And watch it coursing, in its heedless hurry Disdaining Wisdom's call or Duty's beck ! Ah ! it were sweet, where clover clumps are meet- ing And daisies hiding, so to hide and rest; No sound except my own heart's sturdy beating, Rocking itself to sleep within my breast, — Just to lie there, filled with the deeper breathing That comes of listening to a wild bird's song! Our souls require at times this full unsheath- ing,— All swords will rust if scabbard-kept too long ; And I am tired, — so tired of rigid duty. So tired of all my tired hands find to do ! I yearn, I faint, for some of life's free beauty. Its loose beads with no straight string running' through ! ' Copyright, 1895, ''y Maiy Ashley Townsend. A WOMAN'S WISH Mary A. Townsend mm^ '-Si^cr Nature's Welcome 2 1 Aye, laugh, if laugh you will, at my crude speech ; But women sometimes die of such a greed, — Die for the small joys held beyond their reach. And the assurance they have all they need 1 — Mary A. Townsend. THE TRUNDLE-BED VALLEY I know a little valley, in among the mountains hid, A trundle-bed for Natur's babes with grass-green coverlid, All buttoned down 'ith tulips, an' all trimmed 'ith dandelion, A crib for Natur's child, like me, to toddle to an' lie on. I love to watch the coverlid sewed with the lily's stem. An' the trout-brook is its bindin' thet curves way aroun' its hem. Wen the burden is too heavy fer my heart an' han' an' head, I jest choke down my tired sobs an' seek my trundle-bed. Four big mountains are its bedposts; down through its awning high, The sun shines like a breas'-pin in the buzzom of the sky, 22 The Nature Lover^ Treasury An' it shines so warm an' frien'ly where my coverlid is spread, Thet I don't need any candle w'en I seek my trundle-bed. Mother Natur' loves her child'en, so the good ol' soul has spread Tiger-lily tangled bed-quilts over my big trundle- bed. An' to give her fretful youngster no excuse for being cross, She has stuffed a lazy pillow with the softest kind of moss. So, w'en I'm torn an' tired do my weary foot- steps tread Up the pussy-wilier valley to my little trundle- bed, Mother Natur' bends her face down, and she seems to love me so Thet I rise an' toddle bravely, all the way I have to go. — Sam Walter Foss. A SUMMER MORNING'S SONG Up, sleeper ! dreamer ! up ; for now There's gold upon the mountain's brow — There's light on forests, lakes, and meadows Nature s Welcome 23 The dewdrops shine on flow'ret bells, The village clock of morning tells. Up, men! out, cattle! for the dells And dingles teem with shadows. Up! out! o'er furrow and o'er field; The claims of toilsome moments yield For morning's bliss, and time is fleeter Than thought — so out! 'tis dawning yet. Why twilight's lovely hour forget? For sweet though be the workman's sweat, The wand'rer's sweat is sweeter. Up ! to the fields ! through shine and stour ; What hath the dull and drowsy hour So blest as this? the glad heart leaping To hear mom's early song sublime ; See earth rejoicing in its prime: The summer is the waking time, The winter time for sleeping. Oh, fool ! to sleep such hours away. While blushing nature wakes to-day. On down through summer mornings snoring. 'Tis meet for thee, the winter long, When snows fall fast, and winds blow strong, To waste th-e night amidst the throng, Their vinous poisons pouring. 24 The Nature Lovers' Treasury The very beast that crops the flower, Hath welcome for the dawning hour. Aurora smiles ! her beck'nings claim thee, Listen — look round — the chirp, the hum. Song, low, and bleat — there's nothing dumb — All love, all life. Come, slumb'rer, come! The meanest thing shall shame thee. We come — we come — our wand'rings take Through dewy field, by misty lake And rugged paths, and woods pervaded. By branches o'er, by flow'rs beneath. Making earth od'rous with their breath ; Or through the shadeless gold-gorze heath. Or 'neath the poplars shaded. Were we of feather, or of fin. How blest to dash the river in. Thread the rock-stream as it advances; Or, better, like the birds above. Rise to the greenest of the grove. And sing the matin song of love Amidst the highest branches. Oh, thus to revel, thus to range, I'll yield the counter, bank, or change; The bus'ness crowds, all peace destroying; The toil, with snow that roofs our brains ; The seeds of care, which harvest pains ; The wealth, for more which strives and strains. Still less and less enjoying. Natures Welcome 25 Oh, happy, who the city's noise Can quit for nature's quiet joys. Quit worldly sin and worldly sorrow; No more 'midst prison-walls abide, But, in God's temple, vast and wide. Pour praises every eventide. Ask mercies every morrow. Come — though a glance it may be — come. Enjoy, improve, and hurry home. For life's strong urgencies must bind us. Yet mourn not; morn shall wake anew. And we shall wake to bless it too — Homewards! the herds shall shake the dew We'll leave in peace behind us. — /. T aliens. SOIL -GROWTH There is a locust thicket in my blue-grass pasture where, in the heat of the day, the cows love to lie down and assimilate the garnered herbage for which they have labored all the morning. If brain-workers would only do like cows: gather up their material as they walk around in the fields and the woods and as- similate it while resting — do their best work, their assimilative work, as they rested, they — 26 The Nature Lovers' Treasury well, they would have more brains! For no man has ever done really good work until he has lain down in the grass with some of God's creatures and learned of himself by watching them. It is thought that makes brain, and no great brain-worker was ever a great reader of others. This locust thicket with the cows scattered through and in it, lying amid the flowers and grasses like fawn-colored njrmphs in a sea of blue and emerald, is an exquisite picture from nature's brush. The Southdowns are there, too, in a flock; and lying in the further end of it, viewed as I see them from my resting- place in the grass, they are not unlike that stream of white light which painters some- times throw into their pictures to set off the darker shades. The tangled and brambled wood is the back- ground, the blue and still more faintly blue hills, beyond, the softened and subdued per- spective; while on the living canvas the fainter shadows flit about like sweet, sad smiles dropped from the lips of the passing night, and Naiad like, await in their dark, cool caves, till she pass, to rejoin her again. Nature's Welcome 27 A picture on canvas once painted is forever fixed. Not so with the one which nature paints. I have been there at all times of the day, and, though always beautiful, it is never the same. It is darker and fuller of shadows in the morning and evening. At noon it is lit up with the softened splendor of a light which, falling through feathery leaf and clus- ters of locust blossoms, is more a refined glory, a soft radiance, the halo of heaven's smile passed through sieves of crystal, than it is light. The perspective of a painted picture stares one in the face day after day, with a fixed sameness. But O, the ever-changing tints in the distant hills around this one! In the morning, tint after tint of varying blue — from deepest blue in the gloaming of sunrise, and the brown-blue of the fuller light of morn, to the purpling-blue of sunset — changing from blue to blue-brown and from blue-brown to blue, measuring their moods with the progress of the sun, changing their gowns, like a queenly woman, morning, noon, and night, to catch the eye of him, their lover lord, until, as night comes on, they throw over their head and shoulders a silvery sheen — 28 The Nature Lovers' Treasury laces of starlight — and, in a bodice of red and a gown of purple they meet and kiss him in the twilight. And above shine the stars, the stars of locust blossoms ; and beneath, the never-dying, never-changing splendor of that grass which is the emblem of immortality. And the cows — I love to lie down with them, right in their midst and right down on the grass — for, as I said, if one really wishes to learn something, one must lie down with nature. And so when I really wish to think, to solve the problems that confront me daily, I go out to that cool and shady spot and talk it over with the cows. — From " A Summer Hymnal" John Trotwood Moore. BIRCH AND PADDLE TO BLISS CARMAN Friend, those delights of ours Under the sun and showers, — Athrough the noonday blue Sliding our light canoe. Or floating, hushed, at eve. Where the dim pine-tops grieve! " Or floating, hushed at eve Where the Jtm -pine-tops grieve." BIRCH AND PADDLE Charles G. D. Roberts Nature's Welcome 29 What tonic days were they Where shy streams dart and play, — Where rivers brown and strong As caribou bound along. Break into angry parle Where wildcat rapids snarl. Subside, and like a snake Wind to the quiet lake I We've paddled furtively, Where giant boughs hide the sky, — Have stolen, and held our breath. Thro' coverts still as death, — Have left with wing unstirred The brooding phcEbe-bird, And hardly caused a care In the water-spider's lair. For love of his clear pipe We've flushed the zigzag snipe, — Have chased in wilful mood The wood-duck's flapping brood, — 30 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Have spied the antlered moose Cropping the young green spruce, And watched him till betrayed By the kingfisher's sharp tirade. Quitting the bodeful shades We've run thro' sunnier glades, And dropping craft and heed Have bid our paddles speed. Where the mad rapids chafe We've shouted, steering safe, — With sinew tense, nerve keen. Shot thro' the roar, and seen. With spirit wild as theirs. The white waves leap like hares. And then, with souls grown clear In that sweet atmosphere. With influences serene Our blood and brain washed clean. We've idled down the breast Of broadening tides at rest. Where the mad rapids chafe We've shouted, steering safe.' BIRCH AND PADDLE Charles G. D. Roberts Nature s Welcome 3 1 And marked the winds, the birds, The bees, the far-off herds, Into a drowsy tone Transmute the afternoon. So, Friend, with ears and eyes Which shy divinities Have opened with their kiss. We need no balm but this, — A Httle space for dreams On care-unsullied streams, — 'Mid task and toil, a space To dream on Nature's face! — Charles G. D. Roberts. NATURE RECREATIONS ' If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work." — "Henry IV. " Shakespeare. THE BLOODLESS SPORTSMAN " Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ? Loved the wood-rose and left it on its stalk ? " I go a-gunning, but take no gun ; I fish without a pole; And I bag good game and tatch such fish As suit a sportsman's soul ; For the choicest game that the forest holds, And the best fish of the brook, Are never brought down by a rifle shot And never are caught with a hook. I bob for fish by the forest brook, I hunt for game in the trees. For bigger birds than wing the air Or fish that swim the seas. A rodless Walton of the brooks, A bloodless sportsman, I — I hunt for the thoughts that throng the woods, The dreams that haunt the sky. The woods were made for the hunters of dreams. The brooks for the fishers of song ; To the hunters who hunt for the gunless game The streams and the woods belong. 35 36 The Nature Lovers' Treasury There are thoughts that moan from the soul of the pine. And thoughts in the flower bell curled ; And the thoughts that are blown with the scent of the fern Are as new and as old as the world. So, away ! for the hunt in the fern-scented wood Till the going down of the sun ; There is plenty of game still left in the woods For the hunter who has no gun. So, away! for the fish in the moss-bordered brook That flows through the velvety sod; There are plenty of fish still left in the streams For the angler who has no rod. — Sam Walter Foss. WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN "THE COMPLETE ANGLER" While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport. Shall live the name of Walton; sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort To reverend watching of each still report That Nature utters from her rural shrine. Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline, He found the longest summer day too short, To his loved pastime given by sedgy Lee, " While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport. Shall live the name of Walton; sage benign." WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN THE " COM- PLETE ANGLER " William Wordsworth Nature Recreations 37 Or down the tempting maze of Shaw ford brook ! Fairer than life itself, in this sweet book, The cowslip bank and shady willow-tree, And the fresh meads ; where flowed from every nook Of his full bosom, gladsome piety ! — William Wordsworth. THE ANGLER'S SONG I would you were a brother of the Angle, for a companion that is cheerful, and free from swearing and scurrilous discourse, isi worth gold. I love such mirth as does not make friends ashamed to look upon one an- other next morning; nor men, that cannot well bear it, to repent the money they spend when they be warmed with drink. And take this for a rule, you may pick out such times and such companies, that you may make your- selves merrier for a little than a great deal of money; for " 'Tis the company and not the charge that makes the feast," and such a com- panion you prove ; I thank you for it. But I will not compliment you out of the debt that I owe you, and therefore I will begin my song, and wish it may be so well liked. 38 The Nature Lovers' Treasury As inward love breeds outward talk, The hound some praise, and some the hawk : Some, better pleased with private sport, Use tennis, some a mistress court: But these delights I neither wish Nor envy, while I freely fish. Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride ; Who hawks, lures oft both far and wide ; Who uses games shall often prove A loser; but who falls in love Is fettered in fond Cupid's snare : My angle breeds me no such care. Of recreation there is none So free as fishing is alone; All other pastimes do no less Than mind and body both possess : My hand alone my work can do, So I can fish and study too. I care not, I, to fish in seas, Fresh rivers best my mind do please. Whose sweet calm course I contemplate. And seek in life to imitate: In civil bounds I fain would keep, And for my past offences weep. And when the timorous trout I wait To take, and he devours my bait. How poor a thing sometimes I find Will captivate a greedy mind: Nature Recreations 39 And when none bite, I praise the wise, Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise. But yet, though while I fish I fast, I make good fortune my repast ; And thereunto my friend invite, In whom I more than that delight: Who is more welcome to my dish. Than to my angle was my fish. As well content no prize to take, As use of taken prize to make : For so our Lord was pleased when He fishers made fishers of men : Where, which is in no other game, A man may fish and praise his name. The first men that our Saviour dear Did choose to wait upon him here, Blest fishers were, and fish the last Food was, that he on earth did taste. I therefore strive to follow those. Whom he to follow him hath chose. — " The Complete Angler," Izaak Walton. MY CANOE You may boast of the haughty three-decker That darkens the deep with her sail, And the shocks of whose thunder majestical Deaden the might of the gale ! 40 The Nature Lovers' Treasury How she crushes the billows beneath her, The glory and pride of her crew ! But give me my light, little bubble, My light, little, tight-built canoe ! Her curved frame is wrought of the fir-tree And birch bark, the hue of the sun. As over the carry we trudge along Lizard-like, both seem as one. Though buoyant as air, she is steady When the tempest comes bellowing through ; - How she shoots, as the lake roars and whitens, My faithful, tried, speedful canoe! How she steals on the deer in his grazing! And creeps to the trout in his sleep ! She vies with the pine-tree's soft melody ; Wakening the lute of the deep. When winter blears bleakly the forest. And the water binds gray to its blue. Safe and sound in her covert I leave her, Till spring calls again my canoe. — Alfred B. Street. THE CHASE In hunting, the finding and killing of the game is after all but a part of the whole. The free, self-reliant, adventurous life, with its Nature Recreations 41 rugged and stalwart democracy ; the wild sur- roundings, the grand beauty of the scenery, the chance to study the ways and habits of the woodland creatures — all these unite to give to the career of the wilderness hunter its peculiar charm. The chase is among the best of all national pastimes; it cultivates that vigorous manliness for the lack of which in a nation, as in an individual, the possession of no other qualities can possibly atone. No one, but he who has partaken thereof, can understand the keen delight of hunting in lonely lands. For him is the joy of the horse well ridden and the rifle well held; for him the long days of toil and hardship, resolutely endured, and crowned at the end with triumph. In after years there shall come forever to his mind the memory of endless prairies shimmer- ing in the bright sun; of vast snow-clad wastes lying desolate under gray skies ; of the melancholy marshes; of the rush of mighty rivers; of the breath of the evergreen forest in summer; of the crooning of ice-armored pines at the touch of the winds of winter; of cataracts roaring between hoary mountain masses; of all the innumerable sights and 42 The Nature Lovers' Treasury sounds of the wilderness; of its immensity and mystery; and of the silences that brood in its still depths. — From Preface to " The Wilderness Hunter," Theodore Roosevelt. THE HUNTER'S SONG Rise ! Sleep no more ! 'Tis a noble morn : The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound, Under the steaming, steaming ground. Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by. And leave us alone in the clear gray sky ! Our horses are ready and steady. — So, ho ! I'm gone, like a dart from the Tartar's bow. Hark, hark ! — Who calleth the maiden Morn From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn? The horn, — the horn! The merry, sweet ring of the hunter's horn. Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found. And over the stream, at a mighty bound. And over the high lands, and over the low. O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters go! Away ! — as a hawk flies full at its prey. So flieth the hunter, away, — away ! From the burst at the cover till set of sun. When the red fox dies, and — the day is done ! " O'er furrows, o'er meadows, the hunters go." THE HUNTERS' SONG Bryan Waller Procter Nature Recreations 43 Hark, hark ! — What sound on the wind is borne? 'Tis the conquering voice of the hunter's horn. The horn, — the horn! The merry, bold voice of the hunter's horn. Sound ! Sound the horn ! To the hunter good What's the gulley deep or the roaring flood? Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds, At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. O, what delight can a mortal lack, When he once is firm on his horse's back, With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong. And the blast of the horn for his morning song? Hark, hark! — Now, home! and dream till morn Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter's horn! The horn, — the horn! O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter's horn! — Bryan Waller Procter. OUTDOOR PASTIMES There is a fine and beautiful alliance be- tween all pastimes pursued on flood, field, and fell. The principles in human nature on which they depend, are in all the same; but those principles are subject to infinite modifications 44 The Nature Lovers' Treasury and varieties, according to the difference of individual and national character. All such pastimes, whether followed merely as pastimes, or as professions, or as the immediate means of sustaining life, require sense, sagacity, and knowledge of nature and nature's laws; nor less, patience, perseverance, courage even, and bodily strength or activity, while the spirit which animates and supports them is a spirit of anxiety, doubt, fear, hope, joy, exultation, and triumph. . . . Now, seeing that such pastimes are in num- ber almost infinite, and infinite the varieties of human character, pray what is there at all surprising in your being madly fond of shoot- ing — and your brother Tom just as foolish about fishing — and cousin Jack perfectly in- sane on fox-hunting — while the old gentle- man, your father, in spite of wind and weather, perennial gout, and annual apoplexy, goes a-coursing of the white-hipped hare on the bleak Yorkshire wolds — and Uncle Ben, as if just escaped from Bedlam or St. Luke's, with Doctor Haslam at his heels, or with a few hundred yards' start of Doctor Warbur- ton, is seen galloping, in a Welsh wig and Nature Recreations 45 strange apparel, in the rear of a pack of Lilli- putian beagles, all barking as if they were as mad as their master, supposed to be in chase of an invisible animal that keeps eternally doubling in field and forest — " still hoped for, never seen," and well christened by the name of Escape? . . . Yet there seems to be a natural course or progress in pastimes. . . . Thus angling seems the earliest of them all in the order of nature. There the new-breeched urchin stands or the low bridge of the little bit burnie ! and with crooked pin, baited with one unwrithing ring of a dead worm, and attached to a yam- thread — for he has not yet got into hair, and is years off gut — his rod of the mere willow or hazel wand, there will he stand during all his play-hours, as forgetful of his primer as if the weary art of printing had never been invented, day after day, week after week, month after month, in mute, deep, earnest, passionate, heart - mind - and - soul - engrossing hope of some time or other catching a minnow or a beardie! — "Recreations" {Christopher North), John Wilson. 46 The Nature Lovers' Treasury FISHING With hickory switch and linen twine He sits upon the country bridge; Below him, where the sun's rays shine. Across the water glides a midge; The cat-tails to the ripples tip And craw-fish mould their cells of clay, And wanderipg swallows downward dip An instant there and then away. Beside him is the homely can That holds the bait, and by his side His yellow dog, a rataplan, Beats on the oaken timbers wide ; Slow swims the cork and then it drifts. And bobs and sinks and wavers there, While bends the switch as quick he lifts A wriggling sun-fish through the air. The meadows ring with melody From rapturous fluttering bobolinks And on a blackened fallen tree Is stretched, as solemn as the sphinx An old mud-turtle's awkward form, And dragon-flies above him skim. Out, where the sunlight dances warm. And in where shadows hover dim. I grant you all you else may claim When manhood seeks its fullest due. Nature Recreations 47 I grant you honor, place, and fame, I grant that she you loved was true ; I grant you gray in years, and rich, So that you but could give me then The brook, the fish, the hickory switch, And time to be a boy again. — Ernest McGaffey. THE TAKING OF THE SALMON A birr ! a whirr ! a salmon's on, A goodly fish ! a thumper ! Bring up, bring up the ready gaff, And if we land him we shall quaff Another glorious bumper! Hark! 'tis the music of the reel. The strong, the quick, the steady ; The line darts from the active wheel. Have all things right and ready. A birr! a whirr! the salmon's out. Far on the rushing river; Onward he holds with sudden leap. Or plunges through the whirlpool deep, A desperate endeavor! Hark to the music of the reel ! The fitful and the grating; It pants along the breathless wheel, Now hurried — now abating. 48 The Nature Lovers' Treasury A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon's off ! — No, no, we still have got him; The wily fish is sullen grown. And, like a bright imbedded stone. Lies gleaming at the bottom. Hark to the music of the reel ! 'Tis hush'd, it hath forsaken ; With care we'll guard the magic wheel, Until its notes rewaken. A birr ! a whirr ! the salmon's up, Give line, give line and measure ; But now he turns ! keep down ahead. And lead him as a child is led. And land him at your leisure. Hark to the music of the reel ! 'Tis welcome, it is glorious; It wanders thro' the winding wheel. Returning and victorious. A birr! a whirr! the salmon's in, Upon the bank extended; The princely fish is gasping slow. His brilliant colors come and go. All beautifully blended. Hark to the music of the reel ! It murmurs and it closes; Silence is on the conquering wheel. Its wearied line reposes. THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE James Whitcomb Riley Nature Recreations 49 No birr! no whirr! the salmon's ours, The noble fish — the thumper : Strike through his gill the ready gaff, And bending homewards, we shall quaff Another glorious bumper! Hark to the music of the reel ! We listen with devotion; There's something in that circling wheel That wakes the heart's emotion! — Thomas Tod Stodda/rt. THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE» Oh! the old swimmin'-hole ! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep. And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know Before we could remember anything but the eyes Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise ; But the merry days of youth is beyond our con- trole. And it's hard to part ferever with the old swim- min'-hole. 'Used by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs- Merrill Company. From "Neghborly Poems," Copyright, 1897. 50 The Nature Lovers* Treasury Oh ! the old swimmin'-hole ! In the happy days of yore. When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore. Oh! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, It made me love myself, as I leaped to caress My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tender- ness. But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll From the old man come back to the old swim- min'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole I In the long, lazy days When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways, How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swim- min'-hole. But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sor- row roll Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. Nature Recreations 51 Thare the buUrushes growed, and the cattails so tall. And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all ; And it mottled the worter with amber and gold Tel the glad lillies rocked in the ripples that rolled ; And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings flut- tered by Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky. Or a wownded apple-blossom In the breeze's con- trole As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be — But never again will theyr shade shelter me ! And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul. And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'- hole. — J amies Whitcomb Riley. 52 The Nature Lovers' Treasury FLUSHED Thick coverts in the island bogs, With here and there dark, shallow pools. Where wriggling tadpoles swim in schools Around the black, half-sunken logs; And with its limbs like gaunt-hewn hands A sycamore's huge, knotted trunk. As some old, shorn, and wrinkled monk, Solemnly in the silence stands. A rustling where the cover lays, A soft step pattering in the brake — A form that makes the alders shake Threading along in winding ways, And then within a brushy place From out an opening appears. With great brown eyes and silken ears. An eager water-spaniel's face. He takes one step, when outward springs A bird whose arrowy, agile flight Seems as a sudden flash of light Borne upward on mercurial wings ; The hanging brush an instant parts. Shrill sounds a whistle of surprise. And, meteor-like, before his eyes Up through the trees a woodcock darts. — Ernest McGaffey. FLUSHED Ernest McGaffey ^ ^m^ ^% i p^^^^^^^^^^^H^^^^^ '' ^l^^jBfe- j! vlr^ H ^mUH Ur^- - - ;iei('3^^B 1 HHH |.|. - ->■#" '-^ iHg^^^pgiw^B 3 ^HH K^- ;t* '""^^^^^BjH r Hi ^B^^SiStilm^^ % »£ l^^n^^^ H^^^Hg^K:! L '~^« f -" ^^^I^H^H HH ^^ ^^^4C|^^H^nHL U H^M g Nature Recreations 53 A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA A wet sheet and a flowing sea, — A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail. And bends the gallant mast, — And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle, free. Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind ! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high, — And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free ; The world of waters is our home. And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; But hark the music, mariners ! The wind is piping loud, — The wind is piping loud, my boys. The lightning flashes free; While the hollow oak our palace is. Our heritage the sea. — Allan Cunningham. 54 The Nature Lover^ Treasury THE HORSEBACK RIDE When troubled in spirit, when weary of life. When I faint 'neath its burdens, and shrink from its strife, When its fruits turned to ashes, are mocking my taste, And its fairest scenes seem but a desolate waste, — Then come ye not near me, my sad heart to cheer With friendship's soft accents, or sympathy's tear. No pity I ask, and no counsel I need, But bring me, oh, bring me, my gallant young steed ! With his high arched neck and his nostrils spread wide. His eyes full of fire, and his step full of pride. As I spring to his back, as I seize the strong rein. The strength of my spirit returneth again; The bonds are all broken that fettered my mind. And my cares borne away on the wings of the wind; My pride lifts its head, for a moment bowed down, And the queen in my nature now puts on her crown. Nature Recreations 55 Now we're off, like the winds to the plains whence they came. And the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame ! On ! on ! speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod. Scarce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod ! On! on! like a deer, when the hound's early bay Awakes the wild echoes; away and away! Still faster, still faster, he leaps at my cheer. Till the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear ! Now 'long a clear rivulet lieth his track, — See his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles back! Now a glen, dark as midnight! what matter? We'll down. Though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us frown ! The thick branches shake as we're hurrying through. And deck us with spangles of silvery dew ! What a wild thougbt of triumph, that this girlish hand Such a steed in the might of his strength may command ! What a glorious creature! Ah! glance at him now. As I check him awhile on this green hillock's brow! 56 The Nature Lovers' Treasury How he tosses his mane, with a shrill, joyous neigh. And paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play! Hurrah ! Off again ! Dashing on as in ire, Till the long, flinty pathway is flashing with fire! Ho! A ditch! Shall we pause? No! the bold leap we dare. Like a swift-winged arrow we. rush through the air. Oh! not all the pleasures that poets may praise, — Not the 'wildering waltz in the ball-room's blaze. Not the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race. Nor the swift regatta, nor merry chase. Nor the sail, high-heaving the waters o'er. Nor the rural dance on the moonlit shore, — Can the wild and thrilling joy exceed Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed ! — "Grace Greenwood" (Mrs. Lippincott). THE PUSSY-WILLOWS The beauty of willow " pussies " is to be fully appreciated only by those who go a-field or a-wood after them. They are flowers in the truest sense of the word, — or, rather, THE HORSEBACK RIDE Grace Greenwood Nature Recreations 57 they are masses of many flowers in one catkin, which has all the effect of a large flower grow- ing on a bush with many others. The tints and forms of our native willow catkins vary a great deal with the species and sex. Some of them are large, yellow, and whiskered, and make a picturesque mass of bloom upon a bush growing alone or in the midst of other vegetation. Branches of them in vases are certainly very decorative. But they are not so pretty as the little rosy-cheeked catkins of another species, which grow upon the branch almost as thick as they can be. At this time a spray of them presents a remarkably beauti- ful effect, for on the same branch will be fotmd catkins whose tiny individual blossoms are not open, but are simply red-cheeked buds, and also those which are open and very yel- low. In both the budded and the completely blossomed state they are covered with a sil- very fuzz, which gives them, in the light, a changeable and almost iridescent effect. The rosy color generally preponderates, though there is enough of the gold to make a delicious blending of the two tints. The catkins of the larger, whiskered sort are exceedingly fra- 58 The Nature Lovers' Treasury grant. A few sprays of them in a vase per- fume with a sweet woodsy fragrance the air of the room in which I write. The other morning, as I came into town, I saw an old man sitting in the corner of the car hugging a large armful of these red- cheeked pussy-willows. He was very plainly dressed, and looked like a working-man. His face beamed as he looked at the beautiful mass of blooms in his arms, and then glanced at the people about him in the car. He seemed to draw the flowers closer to him and gloat over them. He noticed that an elderly gentle- man near him looked at him in a friendly way ; and by and by he moved over to where this gentleman sat, extended a couple of branches of the willows toward him, and said, " Excuse me, sir; but if you're the kind of man I take you to be, you'll appreciate that." The gentle- man took the branches, and thanked the old man heartily. Everybody looked pleased, and the old man began a conversation with some of the people about him. He gave two or three sprays to some children, and entered upon an eloquent little tribute of praise to these flowers of the willows and the place J I'acirant's morning, wide and blue In early fall, when the wind walk! too." JOYS OF THE ROAD Bliss Carman Nature Recreations 59 where they grew. This he did in a simple, hearty way that showed his earnest dehght in them. He hved in Boston, he said, in a place where no green thing was to be seen ; but he had risen very early and taken the first train out, and had gathered the " pussies," and would be back in his dull brick quarter at an early hour. He told no more of his circum- stances; but it was easy to make the story longer in one's own mind, — especially as the old man went out of the car at a station in town, looking serenely happy, and hugging closer his mass of willow blossoms. I made sure there was a granddaughter to whom he was taking them. — " The Listener in the Country," Joseph Edgar Chamberlin. THE JOYS OF THE ROAD Now the joys of the road are chiefly these: A crimson touch on the hardwood trees ; A vagrant's morning wide and blue. In early fall, when the wind walks, too; A shadowy highway cool and brown, Alluring up and enticing down 6o The Nature Lovers' Treasury From rippled water to dappled swamp, From purple glory to scarlet pomp; The outward eye, the quiet will. And the striding heart from hill to hill ; The tempter apple over the fence ; The cobweb bloom on the yellow quince; The palish asters along the wood, — A lyric touch of the solitude; An open hand, an easy shoe. And a hope to make the day go through, — Another to sleep with, and a third. To wake me up at the voice of a bird ; The resonant far-listening morn, And the hoarse-whisper of the corn ; The crickets mourning their comrades lost, In the night's retreat from the gathering frost ; (Or is it their slogan, plaintive and shrill, As they beat on their corselets, valiant still?) A hunger fit for the kings of the sea, And a loaf of bread for Dickon and me ; Nature Recreations 6 1 A thirst like that of the Thirsty Sword, And a jug of cider on the board ; i An idle noon, a bubbling spring. The sea in the pine-tops murmuring; A scrap of gossip at the ferry ; A comrade neither glum nor merry. Asking nothing, revealing naught. But minting his words from a fund of thought, A keeper of silence eloquent. Needy, yet royally well content. Of the mettled breed, yet abhorring strife. And full of the mellow juice of life, A taster of wine, with an eye for a maid. Never too bold, and never afraid. Never heart-whole, never heart-sick, (These are the things I worship in Dick) No fidget and no reformer, just A calm observer of ought and must, A lover of books, but a reader of man. No cynic and no charlatan. 62 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Who never defers and never demands. But, smiling, takes the world in his hands, — Seeing it good as when God first saw And gave it the weight of his will for law. And O the joy that is never won. But follows and follows the journeying sun, By marsh and tide, by meadow and stream, A will-o'-the-wind, a light-o'-dream. Delusion afar, delight anear. From morrow to morrow, from year to year, A jack-o'-lantern, a fairy fire, A dare, a bliss, and a desire ! The racy smell of the forest loam. When the stealthy, sad-heart leaves go home ; (O leaves, O leaves, I am one with you. Of the mould and the sun and the wind and the dew) The broad gold wake of the afternoon; The silent fleck of the cold new moon; The sound of the hollow sea's release From stormy tumult to starry peace; Nature Recreations 63 With only another league to wend ; And two brown arms at the journey's end! These are the joys of the open road — For him who travels without a load. — Bliss Carman.. INTIMACY OF NATURE " Thrice happy, oh, thrice happy still the Earth That can express herself in roses, yea. Can make the lily tell her inmost thoughts ! " — Gertrude Hall. TO MOTHER NATURE Nature, in thy largess, grant I may be thy confidant ! Taste who will life's roadside cheer (Tho' my heart doth hold it dear — Song and wine and trees and grass, All the joys that flash and pass), I must put within my prayer Gifts more intimate and rare. Show me how dry branches throw Such blue shadows on the snow, — Tell me how the wind can fare On his unseen feet of air, — Show me how the spider's loom Weaves the fabric from her womb, — Lead me to those brooks of mom Where a woman's laugh is born, — Let me taste the sap that flows Through the blushes of a rose, Yea, and drain the blood which runs From the heart of dying suns, — Teach me how the butterfly Guessed at immortality, — '■ Let me follow up the track Of Love's deathless Zodiac 67 68 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Where Joy climbs among the spheres Circled by her moon of tears, — Tell me how, when I forget All the schools have taught me, yet I recall each trivial thing In a golden, far-oif Spring, — Give me whispered hints how I May instruct my heart to fly Where the baffling Vision gleams Till I overtake my dreams. And the impossible be done When the Wish and Deed grow one! — Frederic Lawrence Knowles. OUT - OF - DOORS In the urgent solitudes Lies the spur to larger moods ; In the friendship of the trees Dwell all sweet serenities. — Ethelyn Wetherald. MAN'S HARMONY WITH NATURE The flowers I pass have eyes that look at me, The birds have ears that hear my spirit's voice. And I am glad the leaping brook to see, Because it does at my light step rejoice. Come, brothers, all who tread the grassy hill, Or wander thoughtless o'er the blooming fields, " And I am glad the leaping brook to see." MAN'S HARMONY WITH NATURE Jones Very ^^iii^ 1 ^ - ^I^^S^ ^ ^^M w ^g^^^j^^ ■^^s^^^R wki BH^hmH^n *ffi^,^^^; ^^^n ehI s ^ij^s^^^i H ^m ^^^Hk^^H^^^ i ^^Ui S| ^^B J^Ht^^^' '"^'-""^ ^^^ s ^^^^^^^H^^2 —"■, J^fck^''' ..a^^i ^^^^^^^^^^^^H iB^s* ^Sh ^^^^^^^B '^^^^p sH ^^^^^^^^B bp^ ■^t'^^s ^f^^ ^^^^^^B V^m^ ~ '.^---'S^ iS^ ^^H^ B n 1 ^^^^B ^^JM^^^ItM^JM ^ ^^^^^^^^^M^ ^o^Jl'"^ ^'*^g? iu^^MMfaML^^k^ H HBS^ ^^Hh^H^^^^I m Intimacy of Nature 69 Come learn the sweet obedience of the will ; Thence every sight and sound new pleasure yields. Nature shall seem another house of thine. When he who formed thee, bids it live and play, And in thy rambles e'en the creeping vine Shall keep with thee a jocund holiday. And every plant, and bird, and insect, be Thine own companions bom for harmony. — Jones Very. RIVER DRIFTWOOD It sometimes takes me a whole afternoon to go two miles down the river. There are many reasons why I should stop every now and then under one bank or another, to look up through the trees at the sky, or at their pic- tures in the water; or to let the boat lie still, until one can watch the little fish come back to their playground on the yellow sand and gravel; or to see the frogs that splashed into the water at my approach, poke their heads out a little way to croak indignantly, or raise a loud note such as Scotch bagpipers drive out of the pipes before they start a tune. The swallows dart like bats along the surface of 70 The Nature Lovers^ Treasury the water after insects, and I see a drowned white butterfly float by, and reach out for it; it looks so frail and little in the river. When the cardinal flowers are in bloom I go from place to place until I have gathered a deck- load; and as I push off the boat it leaves the grass bent down, and the water-mint that was crushed sends a delicious fragrance after me, and I catch at a piece and put a leaf in my mouth, and row away lazily to get a branch of oak or maple leaves to keep the sun off my flowers. Cardinals are quick to wilt, and hang their proud heads wearily. They keep royal state in the shade, and one imagines that the other flowers and all the weeds at the water's edge take care to bow to them as often as the wind comes by, and pay them honor. They are like fine court ladies in their best gowns, standing on the shore. Perhaps they are send- ing messages down the river and across the seas, or waiting to hear some news. . . . On a spring day how the bobolinks sing, and the busy birds that live along the shores go flitting and chirping and whistling about the world! A great fish-hawk drops through the air, and you can see the glitter of the unlucky Intimacy of Nature "ji fish he has seized as he goes off again. Tlie fields and trees have a tinge of green that they will keep only for a few days, until the leaves and grass-blades are larger and stronger ; and where the land has been ploughed its color is as beautiful as any color that can be found the world over, and the long, shining brown furrows grow warm l)ang in the sun. The farmers call to each other and to their horses as they work; the fresh breeze blows from the southwest, and the frogs are cheerful, and the bobolinks grow more and more pleased with themselves every minute, and sing their times, which are meant to be sung slower and last longer, as if the sweet notes all came hur- rying out together. And in the summer, when the days are hot and long, there is nothing better than the glory of. the moonlighted nights, when the shrill cries of the insects fill all the air, and the fire- flies are everywhere, and a whifif of saltness comes up with the tide. In October the river is bright steel color and blue. The ducks rise and fly away from the coves in the early morn- ing, and the oaks and maples dress themselves as they please, as if they were tired of wearing 72 The Nature Lovers' Treasury plain green, like everybody else, and were go- ing to be gay and set a new fashion in the cooler weather. You no longer drift lazily with the current, but pull your boat as fast as you can, and are quick and strong with the oars. And in the winter the river looks cold and dead, the wind blows up and down be- tween the hills, and the black pines and hem- locks stare at each other across the ice, which cracks and creaks loudly when the tide comes up and lifts it. . . . The old elms and pines look strong yet, though once in awhile one blows over or is relentlessly cut down. The willows by the river are cropped and cropped again. The river itself never grows old ; though it rushes and rises high in the spring, it never dries up in the autumn; the little white sails fliit over it in pleasant weather, like fluttering moths around the track of sunlight on the water ; one troop of children after another steals eagerly down to its forbidden shores to play. — 5". O. Jewett. " Heavy in herbage and in dew The great-eyed kme browse thankfully." THE FOOTPATH WAY Katherine Tynan Intimacy of Nature 73 THE FOOTPATH WAY The winding road lies white and bare, Heavy in dust that takes the glare, The thirsty hedgerows and parched grass Dream of a time when no road was. Beyond, the fields are full in view; Heavy in herbage and in dew The great-eyed kine browse thankfully; Come, take the footpath way with me! This stile, where country lovers tryst, Where many a man and maid have kissed, Invites us sweetly, and the wood Beckons us to her solitude. Leave men and lumbering wains behind, And dusty roads, all blank and blind; Come tread on velvet and on silk, Damasked with daisies, white as milk. Those dryads of the wood, that some Call the wild hyacinths, now are come. And hold their revels in a night Of emerald flecked with candle-light. The fountains of the meadows play. This is the wild bee's holiday; When summer-snows have sweetly drest The pasture like a wedding-guest. 74 The Nature Lovers' Treasury By fields of beans that shall eclipse The honey on the rose's lips, With woodruif and the new hay's breath, And wild thyme sweetest in her death. Skirting the rich man's lawn and hall. The footpath way is free to all ; For us his pinks and roses blow : Fling him thanksgiving ere we go ! •By orchards yet in rosy veils, By hidden nests of nightingales, Through lonesome valleys where all day The rabbit people scurry and play. The footpath sets her tender lure. This is the country for the poor ; The high-road seeks the crowded sea; Come, take the footpath way with mel — Katherine Tynan. CLOVER Oh, a song to the clover. That sweet field rover Which the bees riot over Their thirst to stay; In whose depths the shy plover Hies to find cover, Where maiden and lover. And children stray. " By orchards yet in rosy veils." THE FOOTPATH WAY Katherine Tynan Intimacy of Nature 75 Oh, the cool, fragrant places, Strewn with the graces Of the pink and white faces Breathing perfume! Where the country wind races Laden with traces Of swept over spaces Of clover bloom! — Adele Townsend Stanton. SPRING The budding and blooming of spring seem to belong properly to the opening of the months. It is the season of the quickest ex- pansion, of the warmest blood, of the readi- est growth; it is the boy-age of the year. The birds sing in chorus in the spring — just as children prattle; the brooks run full — like the overflow of young hearts; the showers drop easily — as young tears flow; and the whole sky is as capricious as the mind of a boy. Between tears and smiles, the year like the child struggles into the warmth of life. The old year, say what the chronologists will, lingers upon the very lap of spring, and is ^6 The Nature Lovers' Treasury only fairly gone, when the blossoms of April have strewn their pall of glory upon his tomb, and the bluebirds have chanted his requiem. It always seems to me as if an access of life came with the melting of the winter's snows; and as if every rootlet of grass that lifted its first green blade from the matted debris of the old year's decay bore my spirit upon it, nearer to the largess of Heaven. I love to trace the break of spring step by step; I love even those long rain-storms that sap the icy fortresses of the lingering winter — that melt the snows upon the hills, and swell the mountain brooks; that make the pools heave up their glassy cerements of ice, and hurry down the crashing fragments into the wastes of ocean. I love the gentle thaws that you can trace, day by day, by the stained snow-banks, shrink- ing from the grass ; and by the gentle drip of the cottage-eaves. I love to search out the sunny slopes by a southern wall, where the reflected sun does double duty to the earth, and where the frail anemone, or the frail blush of the arbutus, in the midst of the bleak March atmosphere, will touch your heart, like Intimacy of Nature 7 J a hope of Heaven, in a field of graves ! Later come those soft, smoky days, when the patches of winter grain show green under the shelter of leafless woods, and the last snow-drifts, reduced to shrunken skeletons of ice, lie upon the slope of northern hills, leaking away their life. Then, the grass at your door grows into the color of the sprouting grain, and the buds upon the lilacs swell, and burst. The peaches bloom upon the wall, and the plums wear bodices of white. The sparkling oriole picks string for his hammock on the sycamore, and the sparrows twitter in pairs. The old elms throw down their dingy flowers, and color their spray with green ; and the brooks, where you throw your worm or the minnow, float down whole fleets of the crimson blossoms of the maple. Finally the oaks step into the opening quadrille of spring, the grayish tufts of a modest verdure, which by and by will be long and glossy leaves. The dogwood pitches his broad, white tent in the edge of the forest ; the dandelions lie along the hillocks like stars in a sky of green ; and the wild cherry, grow- ing in all the hedgerows, without other cul- 78 The Nature Lovers' Treasury ture than God's, lifts up to Him, thankfully, its tremulous white fingers. Amid all this, come the rich rains of spring. The affections of a boy grow up with tears to water them; and the year blooms with showers. But the clouds hover over an April sky, timidly — like shadows upon innocence. The showers come gently, and drop daintily to the earth — with now and then a glimpse of sunshine to make the drops bright — like so many tears of joy. — " Dream Life" Don- ald G. Mitchell. A TOUCH OF NATURE When first the crocus thrusts its point of gold Up through the still snow-drifted garden mould. And folded green things in dim woods unclose Their crinkled spears, a sudden tremor goes Into my veins and makes me kith and kin To every wild-born thing that thrills and blows. Sitting beside this crumbling sea-coal fire. Here iri the city's ceaseless roar and din, Far from the brambly paths I used to know. Far from the rustling brooks that slip and shine Where the Neponset alders take their glow, I share the tremulous sense of bud and briar And inarticulate ardors of the vine. — Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Intimacy of Nature 79 WISTARIA O pure, pale blossom, opening to the day. With drowsy sweetness, all thy perfect flower. Exhaling fragrance in the sun's warm ray, Thy petals fall to earth, a purple shower ! Dear living garland, twining round our hearts Thy tendrils ever! as in Spring's glad hour. Thou comest forth renewed in all thy parts, A wondrous heritage of leaf and flower. Most lovingly thy slender arms reach out. All hung with drooping, purple clusters fair, And wreathe in graceful curves their mesh about The old house, bowered with a beauty rare. Our hearts go out to thee, dear blossoming vine. Thou gracious guardian of our childhood's home; Sweet Spirit, gentle breath of love divine. Thy fragrance shed through many a year to come! — Carrie Thompson Lowell. AH, SWEET IS TIPPERARY Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year. When the hawthorn's whiter than the snow, 8o The Nature Lover^ Treasury When the feathered folk assemble and the air is all a-tremble With their singing and their winging to and fro; When queenly Slievenamon puts her verdant vesture on, And smiles to hear the news the breezes bring; ■ When the sun begins to glance on the rivulets that dance — Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring ! Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year. When the mists are rising from the lea. When the Golden Vale is smiling with a beauty all beguiling. And the Suir goes crooning to the sea ; When the shadows and the showers only mul- tiply the flowers That the lavish hand of May will fling; When in unfrequented ways, fairy music softly plays — Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring! Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year. When life like the year is young, When the soul is just awaking like a lily blos- som breaking. And love words linger on the tongue; Intimacy of Nature 8 1 When the blue of Irish skies is the hue of Irish eyes, And love dreams cluster and cling Round the heart and round the brain, half of pleasure, half of pain — Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring! — Denis A. McCarthy. MIDSUMMER Around this lovely valley rise The purple hills of Paradise. O, softly on yon banks of haze Her rosy face the Summer lays ! Becalmed along the azure sky. The argosies of Qoudland lie, Whose shores, with many a shining rift. Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift. Through all the long midsummer day The meadow-sides are sweet with hay. I seek the coolest sheltered seat. Just where the field and forest meet, — Where grow the pine-trees tall and bland. The ancient oaks austere and grand, And fringy roots and pebbles fret The ripples of the rivulet. I watch the mowers, as they go Through the tall grass, a wKite-sleeved row. 82 The Nature Lovers' Treasury With even stroke their scythes they swing. In tune their merry whetstones ring. Behind, the nimble youngsters run, And toss the thick swaths in the sun. The cattle graze, while, warm and still. Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, And bright, where summer breezes break. The green wheat crinkles like a lake. The butterfly and humble-bee Come to the pleasant woods with me; Quickly before me runs the quail. Her chickens skulk behind the rail; High up the lone woo5-pigeon sits. And the woodpecker pecks and flits. Sweet woodland music sinks and swells. The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, The swarming insects drone and hum. The partridge beats his throbbing drum. The squirrel leaps among the boughs. And chatters in his leafy house. The oriole flashes by; and, look! Into the mirror of the brook, Where the vain bluebird trims his coat. Two tiny feathers fall and float. As silently, as tenderly. The down of peace descends on me. O, this is peace! I have no need Of friend to talk, of book to read : Intimacy of Nature 83 A dear Companion here abides; Close to my thrilling heart He hides ; The holy silence is His voice: I lie and listen and rejoice. — /. T. Trowbridge. AN AUTUMN MORNING The fields are bathed in shades of filmy mist, Beneath low skies set deep in amethyst, Shot through with thousand rays; Beyond, the hills uplift their crowns of wood, As if to render thanks for every good. In silent signs of praise. Across the bladed corn the shadows fall From risen mist, sent upward to the call Of sunbeams and the breeze; The grass inwoven with a silvery lace. Fashioned within the loom and fretted grace Of Autumn-laden trees. The shadowy vales have opened wide their doors, Through which the morn its sweet refreshment pours Over the drowsy flowers. Whose fragrance gladdens, like an incense mild, The happy-hearted swain and prattling child — Companions of the hours. 84 The Nature Lovers' Treasury 'Tis sunrise of the soul ! The heart and life Of all the waking throng with being rife Enraptured rise from earth; — Waiting the songs from myriad silent throats. The morning breathes upon the dormant notes. And charms them into birth. Each day repeats the glad, recurring scene. While night's sweet, restful hours lie between. Its curtain round us drawn; Refreshed, we waken as the eastern skies Lift Slumber's fingers from our wondering eyes, To greet again the dawn ! — "Pall Mall Magazine" Edward William Butcher. THE ANXIOUS LEAF Once upon a time a little leaf was heard to sigh and cry, as leaves often do when a gentle wind is about. And the twig said, "What is the matter, little leaf?" And the leaf said, " The wind just told me that one day it would pull me off and throw me down to die on the ground." The twig told it to the branch on which it grew, and the branch told it to the tree. And when the tree heard it, it rustled all over, and sent back word to the leaf, " Do not be afraid ; hold on tightly, and you Intimacy of Nature 85 shall not go till you want to." And so the leaf stopped sighing, but went on nestling and sing- ing. Every time the tree shbok itself and stirred up all its leaves, the branches shook themselves, and the little twig shook itself, and the little leaf danced up and down merrily, as if nothing could ever pull it off. And so it grew all summer long till October. And when the bright days of autumn came, the little leaf saw all the leaves around becoming very beau- tiful. Some were yellow, and some scar- let, and some striped with both colors. Then it asked the tree what it meant. And the tree said, " All these leaves are getting ready to fly away, and they have put on these beautiful colors, because of joy." Then the little leaf began to want to go, and grew very beautiful in thinking of it, and when it was very gay in color, it saw that the branches of the tree had no color in them, and so the leaf said, " Oh, branches ! why are you lead color and we golden ? " " We must keep on our work clothes, for our life is not done; but your clothes are for holiday because your tasks are over." Just then, a little puff of wind came, and the leaf let go without thinking of it, and 86 The Nature Lovers' Treasury the wind took it up, and turned it over and over, and whirled it Hke a spark of fire in the air and then iffell gently down under the edge of the fence among hundreds of leaves, and fell into a dream and never waked up to tell what it dreamed about! — Henry Ward Beecher. WHEN THE LEAVES TURN RED There is a purple peacefulness that covers nature's features. Like a many-colored bedquilt o'er a baby's trundle-bed. Nature covers all us children, nervous, tired little creatures, Nervous, tired little children, whether princes, popes, or preachers; When the leaves turn red. A balm that's full of sleepiness envelops hill and river. An air that's full of sweet content o'er all the earth is spread ; We know we dream, and yet we pray to be awakened never. For 'tis the prayer of every soul to dream right on forever; When the la.ves turn red. — Sam Walter Foss. Intimacy of Nature 87 AUTUMNAL FOLIAGE And now, when the year is drawing to a close, when the blessings of the earth have been gathered and stored, when every tree and plant has borne its fruits, when every field has yielded its produce, why should the sun shine brightly now? What has he more to ripen for us at this late day? At this very period, when the annual labors of the husbandman are drawing to a close, when the first light frosts ripen the wild grapes in the woods, and open the husks of the hick- ory nuts, bringing the latest fruits of the year to maturity, these are the days when, here and there, in the groves you will find a maple- tree whose leaves are touched with the gayest colors; those are the heralds which announce the approach of a brilliant pageant — the mo- ment chosen by Autumn to keep the great har- vest-home of America is at hand. In a few days comes another and a sharper frost, and the whole face of the country is changed; we enjoy, with wonder and delight, a natural spectacle, great and beautiful, beyond the reach of any human means. . . . 88 The Nature Lovers' Treasury The hanging woods of a mountainous coun- try are especially beautiful at this season ; the trees throwing out their branches, one above another, in bright variety of coloring and out- line, every individual of the gay throng having a fancy of his own to humor. The oak loves a deep, rich red, or a warm scarlet, though some of his family are partial to yellow. The chestnuts are all of one shadeless mass of gold- color, from the highest to the lowest branch. The basswood, or linden, is orange. The aspen, with its silvery stem and branches, flut- ters in a lighter shade, like the wrought gold of the jeweller. The sumach, with its long, pinnated leaf, is of a brilliant scarlet. The pepperidge is almost purple, and some of the ashes approach the same shade during certain seasons. Other ashes, with the birches and beech, hickory and elms, have their own tints of yellow. That beautiful and common vine, the Virginia creeper, is a vivid cherry-color. The sweet-gum is vermilion. The Viburnum tribe and dogwoods are dyed in lake. As for the maples, they always rank first among the show ; there is no other tree which contributes singly so much to the beauty of the season, for Intimacy of Nature 89 it unites more of brilliancy, with more of vari- ety, than any of its companions; with us it is also more common than any other tree. Here you have a soft maple, vivid scarlet from the highest to the lowest leaf; there is another, a sugar-maple, a pure sheet of gold; this is dark crimson like the oak, that is vermilion; another is parti-colored, pink and yellow, green and red ; yonder is one of a deep purplish hue; this is still green, that is mottled in patches, another is shaded ; still another blends all these colors on its own branches, in capri- cious confusion, the different limbs, the sepa- rate twigs, the single leaves, varying from each other in distinct colors and shaded tints. And in every direction a repetition of this magnificent picture meets the eye: in the woods that skirt the dimpled meadows, in the thickets and copses of the fields, in the bushes which fringe the brook, in the trees which line the streets and roadsides, in those of the lawns and gardens — brilliant and vivid in the near- est groves, gradually lessening in tone upon the farther woods and successive knolls, until, in the distant background, the hills are colored by 90 The Nature Lovers' Treasury a mingled confusion of tints which defy the eye to seize them. . . . One observes also that the spirit of the scene is carried out in many lesser details, for which we are scarcely prepared. Walking through woods and fields, you find many of the smaller shrubs very prettily colored, little annuals also, and the seedlings of the forest-trees. The tiny maples especially, not longer than your finger, with half a dozen little leaflets, are often as delicately colored as blossoms, pink, and red, and yellow. Some of the flowering plants, also, the sarsaparillas and May-stars, with their finely-cut leaves, are frequently of a soft, clear straw-color. One may make very handsome bunches of these bright leaves; a branch of the golden chestnut, or aspen, or birch, a crimson twig from a young oak, an- other of scarlet maple, a long, plume-like leaf of the red sumach, with some of the lesser seedlings, and the prettiest of the wood-plants, make up a bouquet which almost rivals the dahlias in brilliancy. Some persons occasionally complain that this period of the year, this brilliant change in the foliage, causes melancholy feelings. Intimacy of Nature 91 arousing sad and sorrowful ideas, like the flush on the hectic cheek. But surely its more natural meaning is of a very different im- port. . . . Mark the broad land glowing in a soft haze, every tree and grove wearing its gorgeous autumnal drapery; observe the vivid fresh- ness of the evergreen verdure; note amid the gold and crimson woods, the blue lake, deeper in tint at this season than at any other; see a more quiet vein of shading in the paler lawns and pastures, and the dark-brown earth of freshly-ploughed fields; raise your eyes to the cloudless sky above, filled with soft and pearly tints, and then say, what has gloom to do with such a picture? Tell us, rather, where else on earth shall the human eye be- hold coloring so magnificent and so varied, spread over a field so vast, within one noble view? In very truth, the glory of these last waning days of the season proclaims a grandeur of beneficence which should rather make our poor hearts swell with gratitude at each return of the beautiful autumn accorded to us. — " Rural Hours" Susan Fenimore Cooper. 92 The Nature Lovers' Treasury TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue. That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky. Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. — William Cullen Bryant. THE TRYST OF THE NIGHT Out of the uttermost ridge of dusk, where the dark and the day are mingled. The voice of the Night rose cold and calm — it called through the shadow-swept air; Waves that stole on the startled shore." THE TRYST OF THE NIGHT Mary C. Gillington Byron Bureau Nature Study, Cornell University, Jiluica, N.IL Intimacy of Nature 93 Through all the valleys and lone hillsides it pierced, it thrilled, it tingled — It summoned me forth to the wild seashore, to meet with its mystery there. Out of the deep ineffable blue, with palpitant swift repeating Of gleam and glitter and opaline glow, that broke in ripples of light — In burning glory it came and went, — I heard, I saw it beating. Pulse by pulse, from star to star, — the pas- sionate heart of Night! Out of the thud of the rustling sea — the pant- ing, yearning, throbbing Waves that stole on the startled shore, with coo and mutter of spray — The .wail of the Night came fitful-faint, — I he^rd her stifled: sobbing; The cold salt drops fell slowly, slowly, gray into gulfs of gray. There through the darkness the great world reeled, and the great tides roared, assem- bling — Murmuring hidden things that are past, and secret things that shall be; 94 The Nature Lovers' Treasury There at the hmits of life we met, and touched with a rapturous trembling — One with each other, I and the Night, and the skies, and the stars, and sea. — Mary C. Gillington Byron. EVENTIDE When the shadows lengthen and the land- scape becomes indistinct, the common life of men seems to touch the life of Nature most closely and sympathetically. The work of the day is accomplished; the sense of things to be done loses its painful tension; the mind, freed from the cares which engrossed it, opens unconsciously to the sights and sounds of the quiet hour. The fields are given over to silence and the gathering darkness ; the roads cease to be thoroughfares of toil; and over all things the peace of night settles like an unspoken benediction. To the most preoccu- pied there comes a consciousness that the world has changed, and that, while the old framework remains intact, a strange and transforming beauty has touched and spiritual- ized it. At eventide one feels the soul of Nature as at no other hour. Her labours have Intimacy of Nature 95 ceased, her birds are silent ; she, too, rests, and in ceasing to do for us she gives us herself. One by one the silvery points of light break out of the darkness overhead and the faith- ful stars look down on the little earth they have watched over these countless years. The very names they bear recall the vanished races who waited for their appearing and counted them friends. Now that the lamps are lighted and the work of the day is done, is it strange that the venerable mother, whose lullabies have soothed so many generations into sleep, ' should herself appeal to us , in some intimate and personal way ? — " Under the Trees," Hamilton Wright Mabie. NIGHT The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine. The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower. With silent delight. Sits and smiles in the night. Farewell, green fields and happy groves Where flocks have ta'en delight ; 96 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Where Iambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright ; Unseen they pour blessing. And joy without ceasing. On each bud and blossom. And each sleeping bosom. They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are covered warm; They visit caves of every beast. To keep them all from harm ; If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping. They pour sleep on their head. And sit down by their bed. When wolves and tigers howl for prey. They pitying stand and weep ; Seeking to drive their thirst away. And keep them from the sheep. But if they rush dreadful, The angels most heedful Receive each wild spirit. New worlds to inherit. And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold; And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold, Saying, " Wrath by His meekness, And by His health, sickness. NIGHT William Blake Intimacy of Nature 97 Are driven away From our immortal day. " And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep. Or think on Him who bore thy name. Graze after thee and weep. For washed in life's river. My bright mane forever Shall shine like the gold. As I guard o'er the fold." — William Blake. THE WORLD AND I Whether my heart be glad or no. The summers come, the summers go. The lanes grow dark with dying leaves. Icicles hang beneath the eaves. The asters wither to the snow ; Thus doth the summer end and go, Whether my life be glad or no. Whether my life be sad or no. The winters come, the winters go, The sunshine plays with baby leaves. Swallows build about the eaves, The lovely wild flowers bend and blow; Thus doth the winter end and go, Whether my life be sad or no. 98 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Yet Mother Nature gives to me A fond and patient sympathy; In my own heart I find the charm To make her tender, near, and warm; Through summer sunshine, winter snow. She clasps me, sad or glad or no. GLADNESS OF NATURE " Is this a time to be gloomy and sad. When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? " — William Cullen Bryant. AN APRIL ADORATION Sang the sunrise on an amber morn — " Earth, be glad ! An April day is born. " Winter's done, and April's in the skies. Earth, look up with laughter in your eyes ! " Putting off her dumb dismay of snow, Earth bade all her unseen children grow. Then the sound of growing in the air Rose to God a liturgy of prayer; And the thronged succession of the days Uttered up to God a psalm of praise. Laughed the running sap in every vein. Laughed the running flurries of warm rain. Laughed the life in every wandering root. Laughed the tingling cells of bud and shoot. God in all the concord of their mirth Heard the adoration-song of Earth. — Charles G. D. Roberts. I02 The Nature Lovers' Treasury ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea: Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies ; But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn. Aloft on dewy wing; The merle, in his noontide bower. Makes woodland echoes ring; The mavis wild, wi' mony a note. Sings drowsy day to rest: In love and freedom they rejoice, Wi' care nor thrall opprest. Now blooms the lily by the bank. The primrose down the brae; The hawthorn's budding in the glen, And milk-white is the slae : The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang; But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison Strang. — Robert Burns, from the "Lament of Mary Queen of Scots." Gladness of Nature 103 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun. Seeking the food he eats. And pleased with what he gets. Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy. But winter and rough weather. — "As You Like It," Shakespeare. TO THE CUCKOO blithe Newcomer ! I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass. At once far off, and near. 104 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Though babbling only to the Vale, Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No Bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my schoolboy days I listened to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed Bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place. That is fit home for Thee! — William Wordstvorth. Gladness of Nature 105 ON GOING ON A JOURNEY One of the pleasantest things in the world is going a journey; but I like to go by myself. I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, nature is company enough for me. I am never less alone than when alone. " The fields his study, nature was his book." I cannot see the wit of walking and talking at the same time. When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country. I am not for criticising hedgerows and black cattle. I go out of town in order to forget the town and all that is in it. There are those who for this purpose go to watering places, and carry the metropolis with them. I like more elbow- room and fewer incumbrances. I like solitude when I give myself up to it, for the sake of soHtude; nor do I ask for " — a friend in my retreat, Whom I may whisper solitude is sweet." The soul of a journey is liberty; perfect liberty, to think, feel, do, just as one pleases. We go a journey chiefly to be free of all im- pediments and of all inconveniences; to leave io6 The Nature Lovers' Treasury ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others. It is because I want a little breathing- space to muse on indifferent matters, where Contemplation " May plume her feathers and let grow her wings. That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired," that I absent myself from town for a while, without feeling at a loss the moment I am left by myself. Instead of a friend in a post- chaise or in a tilbury, to exchange good things with, and vary the same stale topics over again, for once let me have a truce with im- pertinence. Give me the clear blue sky over my head and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner — and then to thinking ! It is hard if I cannot start some game on these lone heaths. I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy. From the point of yonder rolling cloud, I plunge into my past being, and revel there, as the sunburnt Indian plunges headlong into the wave that wafts him to his native shore. Then long-forgotten things, like " sunken Gladness of Nature 107 wrack and sumless treasuries," burst upon my eager sight, and I begin to feel, think, and be myself again. ... — William Haslitt. THE SPRING JOURNEY O, green was the corn as I rode on my way. And bright were the dews on the blossoms of May, And dark was the sycamore's shade to behold. And the oak's tender leaf was of emerald and gold. The thrush from his holly, the lark from his cloud, Their chorus of rapture sang jovial and loud: From the soft vernal sky to the soft grassy ground. There was beauty above me, beneath, and around. The inild southern breeze brought a shower from the hill ; And yet, though it left me all dripping and chill, I felt a new pleasure as onward I sped, To gaze where the rainbow gleamed broad over- head. O, such be Life's journey, and such be our skill, To lose in its blessings the sense of its ill ; io8 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Through sunshine and shower may our progress be ever, And our tears add a charm to the prospect of Heaven ! — Bishop Heber. JOY - MONTH Oh, hark to the brown thrush! hear how he sings ! How he pours the dear pain of his gladness ! What a gush ! and from out what golden springs ! What a rage of how sweet madness ! And golden the buttercup blooms by the way, A song of the joyous ground; While the melody rained from yonder spray Is a blossom in fields of sound. How glisten the eyes of the happy leaves ! How whispers each blade, " I am blest ! " Rosy Heaven his lips to flowered earth gives, With the costliest bliss of his breast. Pour, pour of the wine of thy heart, O Na- ture! By cups of field and of sky, By the brimming soul of every creature ! — Joy-mad dear Mother, am I. Gladness of Nature 109 Tongues, tongues for my joy, for my joy ! more tongues ! — Oh, thanks to the thrush on the tree, To the sky, and to all earth's blooms and songs ! They utter the heart in me. — David Atwood Wasson. A HAPPY WORLD It is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem with delighted exist- ence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd upon my view. " The insect youth are on the wing," swarms of new- born flies are trying their pinions in the air, their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without use or purpose, — testify their joy and the exultation which they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee amongst the flowers in spring is one of the most cheerful objects that can be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjojmient, — so busy and so pleased, — yet it is only a specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of its being half-domesticated, we happen to no The Nature Lovers' Treasury be better acquainted than we are with that of others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is probable, are equally intent upon their proper employments, and, under every variety of con- stitution, gratified, and perhaps equally grati- fied, by the offices which the Author of their nature has assigned to them. — "Natural Theology," Foley. THE HUMBLE-BEE Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid-zone! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer. Let me chase thy waving lines ; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere ; Swimmer through the waves of air ; Voyager of light and noon ; Epicurean of June ; Gladness of Nature 1 1 1 Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days. With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall. And with softness touching all. Tints the human countenance With a color of romance. And infusing subtle heats. Turns the sod to violets. Thou, in sunny solitudes. Rover of the underwoods. The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours. Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen ; But violets and bilberry bells. Maple-sap and daflfodels, 112 The Nature Lovers' Treasury Grass with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky. Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrimony. Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue And briar-roses, dwelt among; All beside was unl